Through The Rain
by northernexposure
Summary: Hopelessly slushy, hopelessly late Valentines' fic. H/R.


Through The Rain

A/N: Hopelessly slushy, hopelessly late, Valentines' fic.

* * *

And the things that keep us apart keep me alive and  
The things that keep me alive keep me alone

_This Is The Thing _- Fink

* * *

It had begun to hail, unexpectedly, tiny frozen pellets of ice pelting her out of an indolently melancholic sky. Ruth pulled her collar up around her neck, cursing herself for forgetting her umbrella (as if she still lived on an island in the Med, as if it was _ever_ possible to spend time in England and not carry one) and forged on through the grey London day. Around her, the crowd of shoppers jostled and surged like a live thing. It was only as she took in the number of red-wrapped bunches of roses and heart-shaped boxes that were being bundled about that she realised the significance of the date.

Was it February 14th already? How this year was rushing by.

_Valentines' Day, _she thought as she passed Clinton Cards and stared briefly at the horrific sugar-pink display in the window,_ is nothing but a surfeit of empty emotion. A sop to the young, something to persuade them to spend yet more in a high street geared towards meaningless purchases._

Hearts and flowers, chocolate and champagne… What did any of those things have to do with love? Nothing, was the answer. These men rushing past her, laden with gifts – Would they be buying similar things for the same partner next year, or would they be on to a different relationship by then? How many of them would be willing to die for their lovers, or more importantly, live for them, _away_ from them… _After_ them?

Ruth shook her head to dispel the dark turn of her thoughts, and felt a sluice of hail slide beneath her collar. She knew she was coasting dangerously close to bitterness. _And that's all you need,_ she told herself, _to become a bitter, joyless old maid._

She sighed, her breath painting patterns in the cold air as she let it out. There was no point railing against it. Valentines' was statistically one of the Western world's most popular holidays, so it would be going nowhere fast. Ruth couldn't beat them, she most definitely would not be joining them: so therefore the only option was to hibernate. A good bottle of red, some chocolates (preferably not the sort that came in a heart-shaped box), and a DVD. Something entertaining, about infidelity, perhaps - _Brief Encounter_ was on Film4 later, she'd noticed – that'd stop her brooding. And tomorrow was Monday, so she'd be back in the office, sinking herself into work. She glanced at her watch; it was nearly 3pm. If she hadn't needed to pop out for some groceries, she'd probably have passed the entire day in blissful ignorance. As it was, there wasn't really too much more time to kill before it was over for another year.

Squaring her shoulders against the weather, which had now sent a torrent of rain to mock her, Ruth stepped to the curb and waited to cross the road. In the stream of unending traffic, a black car coasted past her. It braked suddenly, a cacophony of hoots and angry shouts chasing after it as it turned into the curb.

Ruth didn't look twice, intent on crossing the road. The driver's carelessness had given her an opportunity to step out, between the suddenly stationary cars. She noticed absently that her shoes had not been made for wet weather…

"Ruth!"

Automatically, she turned her head. Harry Pearce was standing, half out of the rear door of his car, one hand resting on the roof, the other arm laid along the rim of the open door. His driver, caught on the hop, was trying to open an umbrella over Harry's head. It apparently didn't do to let a Knight of the realm get dripping wet. Although as it was, it didn't look as if Harry had been working - he wore a dark jacket, but there was no sign of his tie. His shirt was open at the collar.

A furious chorus of beeps woke Ruth from her momentary lapse, and she jumped out of the way as the traffic streamed around her. Prevented from crossing the road, she retreated to the curb.

"Hello, Harry."

"Let me give you a lift."

"Oh no, really-"

Exasperation showed briefly on his face as he stepped out from beneath the finally-open umbrella, using one hand to grasp her bag of shopping and the other to grip her elbow. "Ruth. Just get in the car. You're soaked."

The driver opened the door for her and she slid in ahead of Harry, who handed her shopping to the chauffer and brushed rain water from the arm of his jacket before the door shut behind him.

"Harry, there's no need -"

"Ruth-"

"I'm dripping all over the seats."

He glanced down at the cream leather upholstery, and an amused expression settled on his face. "You are, rather."

"Harry-"

"It doesn't matter, it'll dry. I couldn't just leave you there," he said, as the car pulled smoothly into the choked stream of traffic. "I try not to make the same mistakes twice. At my age, it's a terrible waste of experience."

Ruth folded her hands in her lap and smiled, opting to gloss over his reference. "Well, thank you."

"You are very welcome."

"What are you doing here anyway?" She looked out of the window at the down-at-heel streets of Finsbury Park. "This isn't your stomping ground."

"No - I'm on my way back into London after an extended meeting with Six," he grimaced slightly as she turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Can't say more than that at this stage. But they wanted to hold the conference outside the city. Everyone else was staying. An excuse for the Six boys to have a bit of a jolly, I suppose."

Ruth laughed slightly. "You weren't tempted to join them?"

Harry gave her a wry smile. "I think I've already mentioned my age once in this conversation. These days I'm afraid I'd far rather be at home with a glass of Caol Isla and the fire going."

She nodded. "I shall be doing something similar with my evening. Though it'll be Puglia rather than whisky, which is about as romantic as I ever get on days like today." It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. Ruth suddenly realised what she'd said. "Oh. I was just – I was just thinking about the day, earlier, before you stopped the car, and that's why I said - I mean, I'm never romantic – but I suppose wine is more romantic than whisky, at least classically, anyway, which suits me-" Ruth stopped, abruptly. Why was it that whenever she tried to explain her way out of a situation, things inevitably ended up seeming worse?

As for Harry, the penny had dropped, understanding taking the place of the perplexed expression he'd worn during her inadequate explanation. He nodded. "February 14th. Valentine's Day. I hadn't even put two-and-two together. My god, this year is going fast."

The car halted at a red light, and the driver flicked the intercom to ask Harry if their destination had changed.

"Sorry - yes, we'll drop Miss Evershed home, Ian. 89 Cotswold Hill, N4 8QT, if the TomTom can find it."

Ruth let the intercom die before she said, "You've memorised my new address? I'm not sure even I know my postcode by heart yet!"

Harry had the good grace to look at least a little abashed. "Oh, you know - operational needs."

She nodded, looking out of the window again to disguise her involuntary smile.

The rain had not let up by the time they stopped outside her little semi. Harry insisted on taking the umbrella from Ian and seeing her to the door. Ruth turned the key and pushed the door open, looking up at him with a grateful smile as she took her shopping from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Harry. It was kind of you to stop."

He smiled, the one he rarely used anymore, the one that always somehow seemed more intimate than the inherent gesture. "Any time. Have a good evening, Ruth. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too, Harry."

She watched his retreating back for a moment before shutting the door.

Twenty minutes later, Ruth had fed the cats, opened her bottle of wine and was checking the TV guide when her doorbell sounded. Frowning to herself, wondering who would be looking her up at this time on a Sunday afternoon, she went to answer it.

Harry Pearce stood on the step of her porch. He looked drenched, as if he'd been dunked in a river somewhere. Ruth was so taken aback that she opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say.

"I - I realised I hadn't asked about the cats." He said, suddenly, into the silence.

Ruth blinked. "The - the cats?"

"Yes. I got quite fond of them while you were away, you know. And I didn't - I didn't ask about them."

"So you…?"

He shrugged, rivulets of water trickling from his hair into his already sodden jacket. "I got Ian to let me out a little way up the road. No sense in him turning around. I said I'd make my own way home."

"You walked all the way back here, in the rain - to ask about my cats?"

"Yes."

"They're fine - come in and see them."

Harry shook his head, and she felt a spattering of water sheen itself over her skin. "No, that's fine. I won't intrude. I'm going to - I'll just make my way home."

He turned away, leaving an astonished Ruth utterly perplexed. "Harry - you're soaked-"

Harry stepped out into the still-falling rain, "It's fine, really."

"Harry-"

He took two more steps and then stopped. A beat later, he turned around and strode back again, resuming his place on her step.

"I didn't come about the cats."

"Harry, please come in-"

"No - no, Ruth, I can't. Because if I do I'll never get this out. You'll never _let _me get this out, so just-"

Ruth froze, and Harry must have read her sudden fear on her face, because he shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't worry. I don't want-" he wiped a hand over his face, wearily. "I don't want to upset you, Ruth. I just think - I just think that some things have to be said. Even if you've been told not to say them. Even if you know someone doesn't want to hear it. And this has nothing to do with the date, and what today means to everyone else. Because you and I know that all of that means less than nothing in this world. Except - except perhaps it's a reminder. Perhaps it's a reminder to people like us that if you don't say those things when you can, maybe you never will."

Ruth watched him, her heart in her mouth. She wanted to stop him, felt she _should_ stop him… But she didn't. She understood. Life is so short. Life is so, _so_ short.

"I love you, Ruth," Harry said, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "And I should have told you years ago. I didn't, and I lost the chance." He shrugged. "But now I can. And I had to. Because-" he cut himself off. "You, better than anyone, know what real love is. And I _love_ you. So I don't think I need to say any more." He smiled, and although there was a taint of pain in his eyes, Ruth realised that an indefinable weight had risen from them. Harry stepped into the rain again. "Night, Ruth. Raise a glass for me."

He was at her gate before she found it possible to move. "Harry. _Harry!_"

Her moccasins were no more waterproof than her shoes had been, the gathered water on her path soaking her toes as she ran after him. Ruth caught Harry's arm, wrenching him around to face her. She looked up at him, the rain beating a cold tattoo on her face.

"At least come in and get dry," she said.

He studied her face, reaching up to brush her already-wet hair from her eyes.

"Or come in and never leave," she added, and then smiled self-consciously as he started at her blunt suggestion. "You're not the only one who learns from their mistakes."

He kissed her, gently, tasting of rain and tears and hope, and when they pulled apart, it was only to get out of the rain.

[END]


End file.
